"Well, you were right, Colonel. He's got no serious injuries," said Wilson. "But he's gonna be sore for a few days. Someone gave him a pretty good kick in the ribs."
He took a mouthful of strong black coffee, and folded his hands around the mug. He and Hogan were sitting at the table in the center of the barracks, in near darkness, speaking in low voices out of consideration for the sleeping men all around them.
"And?"
Wilson uttered a low grunt. "You were right about that, too. He's been worked over, pretty thoroughly, round about a week or ten days ago."
"Another fight?"
"I don't think so. I've patched up plenty of fellers after they've gone at it. Usually they'll have bruised knuckles from where they landed a few punches on the other guy. Now, Mills has some fresh bruises on his hands, but those are from tonight. Whatever happened at the transit camp, he didn't fight back, or wasn't given the chance."
Hogan drew a deep breath. "Could it have been an interrogation that got out of hand?"
"Don't quote me on it. But that's my guess, and I don't think it was just one session." Wilson drained his coffee, and stood up. "Is there anything else before I head back?"
"Yeah. I've got a team out on a job tonight," said Hogan. "It'd be handy if I could be sure Mills is asleep when they get back. Any chance you could get him to take something, tell him it's a painkiller?"
"Wish you'd told me before," replied Wilson dourly. "I already gave him something. I thought he could use a good night's sleep. It'll only last a couple of hours, but once he's out he should sleep solid till morning."
"Well, that's something. Thanks, Wilson. Take the tunnel, we've run enough risks with the guards for one night." Hogan opened the tunnel entrance, and watched as Wilson disappeared below. Then he went back to his quarters.
Whatever it was the medic had administered, it obviously worked fast. Mills was already close to unconscious, but as Hogan closed the door, he gave a start, and opened his eyes.
"Easy, Mills," said Hogan. "It's okay, you're safe." He drew a chair close to the bunk, and straddled it, leaning on the back to create the illusion of a barrier. It seemed to reassure Mills, who settled back onto the thin pillow, watching Hogan as warily as a man gradually falling into a drugged sleep could manage.
"Why'd you stop 'em?" he mumbled. "Why'd you bring me - What d'you want from me?"
"I just want you to get some sleep, Mills," replied Hogan steadily. "We'll talk in the morning."
"No. No talk. Got nothing to say. Tell him he can go..." The last couple of words slurred towards incomprehensibility.
"Who, Mills?" Hogan tilted his head forward. "Who got to you, and what was he after?" But Mills was already too far gone to hear him. Hogan watched him for a minute or so, but he was well and truly out.
"Just when I was on the brink of getting somewhere," growled Hogan softly.
He got up, switched off the light, and went out into the barracks, where he slipped off his shoes and jacket, and lay down fully dressed on the unoccupied bunk nearest to his quarters, where he could grab forty winks, but still keep an ear out for any sounds.
As little as Mills, in his half-awake state, had said, one important detail had come out, and Hogan, lying wide awake in the darkness, turned it over in his mind. Tell him he can go to hell...
Somehow, he had to find out who that message had been intended for.
Disoriented by his sudden awakening, Mills thought he was back in the cell.
Instinctively he tried to sit up, but the movement set his head to spinning, and he fell back onto the mattress. The fact that it was a mattress - thin and hard, but a mattress, not a bare wooden bench - took some time to filter through the fog which seemed to have taken over his brain.
A mattress, and a coarse blanket as well. So this wasn't the cell. Of course it wasn't. He was at Stalag 13, just a prisoner of war like the rest of them. For now, he was safe.
Whatever the medic had given him, it sure packed a punch. His eyelids felt like they had been glued shut. It took an effort to get them open, but it was too dark to see anything, and the only sound, from somewhere close by, was the murmur of voices. Then he heard footsteps. By pure reflex, he closed his eyes again.
The door opened, and he sensed someone approach the bed and lean over him. "Mills? You awake?" Vaguely, he recognized Sergeant Kinchloe's voice, and for a moment he almost let his guard down. If anyone in this place could be trusted, Kinchloe was the man.
No. He'd made that mistake once already. No way was he going to fall for it again. He stayed still, consciously keeping his breathing slow and steady, until at last Kinchloe moved away, speaking quietly to someone else: "Dead to the world, Colonel."
"Good. Let's go see how the boys got on," replied Hogan, just before the door closed. A moment later, Mills heard a repeat of the sound which had woken him, a rattling noise accompanied by the squeak of wood against wood. Pushing against the all-over lethargy which held him down, he rolled off the bunk, and tottered across to the door. He paused for a moment to steady himself before easing it open and peering out.
All appeared quiet in the barracks, where a faint yellowish light illuminated the rows of bunks with their sleeping occupants. But there was something unnatural about the scene, something his dulled senses struggled to come to grips with. His eyes fixed on the dim glow issuing from beneath one of the bunks.
That's kind of odd, he thought. But before he could decide whether to take a closer look, the bunk above suddenly descended, with the same sound he'd heard before, and the light vanished.
"What the hell...?" he murmured.
For some time, he stayed where he was, leaning against the rough frame of the door, trying to make sense of what he'd just seen, or thought he'd seen. There was a dreamlike quality about his remembrance of the whole weird event, as if the drowsiness which had drained his mental energy had allowed his imagination to get the upper hand, showing him the way out he so desperately wanted. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Finally he stumbled back to the bunk, giving in to a renewed tide of lassitude against which he couldn't fight. But even as he slid into unconsciousness, a faint whisper of thought drifted across his awareness. If there really is a tunnel, maybe there's a chance...
The mission had gone off without a hitch. For the next few weeks, anyone who wanted to get over the river at Braunfeld was going to have to swim.
"Well, at least one thing's gone right this week," observed Hogan. It was early morning, and he had reclaimed his quarters, sending Mills out to wait for roll call with the rest of the men.
LeBeau, who had just brought him coffee, chuckled. "It was a beautiful operation, mon colonel. It's almost killing Newkirk that he can't tell the whole story in detail, because we have a visitor."
"I'm sure the story will keep." Hogan opened the door an inch or so. Most of the men were getting dressed, or making up their bunks. Only Mills, who had as yet no real place here, was unoccupied. He had found himself a safe corner, between the door and the washbasin, from which refuge he seemed to be taking stock of his situation. From the shadows under his eyes, it appeared he hadn't gotten much benefit from the long night's sleep imposed on him.
"How long is he going to be here?" asked LeBeau.
"That's a good question." Hogan gave a rueful grin. "Bringing him here wasn't exactly part of the plan. I guess we just have to play it by ear."
He strolled out of the office, as calm and casual as ever. "Morning, fellers. All ready for another day of fun and relaxation at the Grand Hotel Klink?"
"Can't hardly contain my excitement, sir," replied Newkirk. "We're on garbage detail today - my favorite pastime, apart from scrubbing out the latrines."
"Keep talking, Newkirk. I'm sure I can arrange something," said Hogan.
He refilled his coffee mug, and went to speak to Mills. "When it's time for roll call, you'll have to hightail it back to Barracks 18, and line up with them. But as soon as possible, I'll arrange for you to be moved to another barracks."
Mills regarded him warily. "Why?"
"Because I don't want MacNeill and his pals ganging up on you again," replied Hogan. "As long as I'm the senior officer here, that's not on." He paused for a moment, then added, "Look, I know something happened while you were at the transit camp. And I get it, right now you don't trust anyone, including me. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything I can to help you. Whether you believe that or not is up to you."
He turned away, but stopped in his tracks, as Mills said, in a low voice: "Colonel...about the transit camp..."
But before he could finish the sentence, he was struck by the door of the barracks as it was flung open. "Raus, everybody, raus," bellowed Schultz. "All prisoners are required for assembly immediately."
"Roll call's not for another half hour, Schultz," said Hogan. He moved back towards the door, to make sure Schultz didn't spot Mills standing behind it.
"This is not roll call. This is a special formation called by order of the Kommandant. And boy, is he ever mad about something." Schultz shook a finger, like an angry uncle scolding a dozen ill-behaved nephews. "Whatever you prisoners have been up to, you are in big trouble. Now, all of you, raus."
"Okay, okay, we're rausing as fast as we can," grumbled LeBeau.
"It's not fair. How come we get blamed for everything that happens round here?" added Carter plaintively.
"I'd lay short odds, whatever it is, it was the guards what done it," said Newkirk. "Doesn't matter what kind of a prison you're in, the screws are always bent."
Schultz went immediately on the defensive. "It's not true. I'm a very honest man. You can ask anyone."
Hogan put his hand on Schultz's shoulder, and propelled him forward, away from the door. "I believe you, Schultz. I don't think you're crooked."
"I should think not," grunted Schultz.
"After all, it takes brains to be dishonest," Hogan went on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mills slide around the door behind Schultz's back, and make his escape.
"That's right, it does take..." Schultz broke off, then uttered a low rumble. "Jolly jokers! Raus!"
The prisoners, scowling and complaining, straggled out to the parade ground. For his part, Hogan presented a front of bored resignation, but all his senses were alert. It was rare for Klink to call a special formation, especially so close to the usual time for roll call. Obviously something had really gotten him riled. It could be something to do with the previous night's sabotage mission, or it could be that Mills' absence from Barracks 18 had been discovered.
Hogan had plenty of practice in dealing with a suspicious, angry Kommandant, but it was an unwelcome distraction, and the timing couldn't have been worse. Just when Mills had finally decided to talk, this had to happen.
For a brief moment, the answers Hogan needed had been within his reach. But chance had snatched them away, and if Mills, now that he had time for second thoughts, decided not to speak after all, they could be gone for good.